


Patria oppressa! il doce nome

by moownk



Category: Rumble (殺し)
Genre: M/M, in which i finally did something, in which i use far too many italics, the zvezda au, this went downhill very quickly, yes Mikholai is abusive af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:11:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4843592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moownk/pseuds/moownk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Nikolai carries a bat, sometimes Marco brings a knife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patria oppressa! il doce nome

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abyssobrotulaCronos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abyssobrotulaCronos/gifts).



> this is so so bad. i'm not even sorry.  
> no beta read, english isn't my first language, neither is russian.  
> title's from macbeth, atto iv, coro 'patria oppressa! il doce nome' by verdi.

The first time they meet is outside a café in the worst part of the town. Nikolai does not need to walk around there, but he does anyway, to bother his father and because Maria still makes the best cuppa he's ever had. And because there's time, and he's young and his auburn hair is still very much auburn, he doesn't care spending time there. Reading Camus and Rilke and others, pretentious as always, for literature can't be much more than that.

He notices the tall and olive skinned boy and before realizing anything, Meursault concludes, much better than Nikolai himself would have, " _like a flower growing out of the silence and the darkness_ ". He watches him as the boy uses rubbing alcohol over his bleeding knuckles, cleaning it with cotton and wrapping a gauze over it. The gauze is dirty and Nikolai wants to help him find something better. He then sees his cheekbones and those slate-coloured bruises that mark them. The book lays closed by now, the continuity of the story long forgotten, but all is forgiven when Nikolai makes the first move. He walks over his table and asks if the boy would mind a little help. Next thing they're on a pharmacy bathroom.

Nikolai unwraps the gauze carefully for the boy's knuckles are still weeping blood (this same blood that would make blots on his fingers so many times, that he would again and again clean it with his shirts, that would stain and stay there for a long time). He's sat at the sink table and looks over his shoulder to watch his reflection. He seems to wonder about many things at once and Nikolai minds his own business and asks about nothing. After sometime, he mumbles a "does it hurt?" after cleaning it with moistened cotton and applying antisceptic over the area. He then gestures a 'no' and silence saturates the room.

He doesn't see the other boy thereafter. Nikolai would still come to the café and would still thank Maria while drinking his cuppa. Would still read pretentious literature. Time went as nothing happened, even though his mind took him to those memories as they meant much more than they should. He recalls the happening as a good laugh shared between friends (but then how ironic it was, the boy haven't even said a _thankyouverymuch_ before leaving). He doesn't want to be that person. He fidgets a lot after that, too.

 

 

"Wouldn't mind earning a little _hello, pal_ from your Highness, really," Nikolai hears a voice accusing him as he walking towards the café once more. He turns around and sees him, tall and oliver skinned and bruised altogether, leaning on a wall. "Pity that you aren't half as educated as you seem to be."

"Excuse me?" Nikolai answers without giving thought to it.

"As I was saying, very sad indeed," he snorts.

"Oh, pardon me then... stranger. Next time I'll leave you and your dirty first aid kit rotting," Nikolai finishes and enters the café. He hears the other boy say "I'm not a strange", as he's is following him in.

He then proceeds to announce his name but Nikolai is already ordering his coffee. They sit at a corner table and the stranger stares at him for extremely long two minutes. He doesn't order a coffe or a cupcake or whatever and the only thing that runs inside Nikolai's mind is how weird this situation is. He adores every second of it.

"Hello, pal," Nikolai smiles. So does Marco. "Needing my aid again?" he promptly asks but the other boy doesn't mind much, too busy rummaging Nikolai's bag.

"What is this?" he holds up a copy of Keyes's _Flowers for Algernon_ amused. "So somebody is educated then" and it sounds like a report and it sounds like mockery too. Nikolai doesn't like it.

"It is mine," he answers and catches it from Marco's hand.

"Oh, I didn't mean to--

"I'm sure you didn't," Nikolai repairs far too quickly. Maybe it was a one-time thing and he was too stupid to linger on what could possibly be a friendship. Newsflash.

His exit ressonates through the avenues of a certain _russkiy_ mind.

 

He considers abandoning Maria. And the café. Then he thinks about his parents. Fyodor would beam through a month. Zinaid would take him to richer and more burgeoise areas and... Nikolai considers how much it would hurt him to extinguish those of his existence, the song and dance being a _étrange_. No, it wasn't fair.

So he comes back like nothing had ever happened. But then, Marco happens.

"Don't run," he starts. "I have a proposal."

 

They end up running so much Nikolai can't feel his limbs. Both boys were just behind some stalls when a sailorsman started shouting in a strong scottish accent about calling the pigs and telling them to fuck off and find somewhere else to wreck. The reason they ended up in the harbour is not known to Nikolai.

There's new bruises on each of them. To Marco, they're anothers to the collection (on his knuckles and throat). But to Nikolai they're brand new. And he finds them endearing, as he's found them once, sweet as candy. There's two small cuts on his mouth and one on his left cheek and even though it hurts a little when Marco is kissing and attempting to bite his lower lip and Nikolai has to stop him or alert him that it hurts, it gives him a sense of sovereignty and liberation because Marco does stop. He's the State, he's the _Roi-Soleil_ and his reign is just beginning.

Fucking him was a confirmation of his autarchy. Marco opens him up and slides inside of his body and hits him hard, grabs his hips with strength and though Nikolai feels more than he reasons, it is possessive and premature at the same time. But it's been so so long. He bites his neck as they were familiar with the prey and predator scenario. Marco eats him as a whole and he's okay with it.

And it does, and they're a constant and an item. They punch people on the streets with no purpose, hunting them down as a couple. 'No steal, no kill' game. Sometimes Nikolai carries a bat, sometimes Marco brings a knife. They track them down and satisfy their desires by slammering a head over a sidewalk, punching and a kicking a stomach or two. Sometimes they play as avengers, seeking twisted people to ruin them even more. To cut them open, to smash and knock them down before the dawn wash them away. It's lovely.

One day, they start planning. Nikolai finds a target.

 

They were sixteen. Mikhail's cock was just too big and the room was too foggy. It hurt too much. He wasn't wet enough, he wasn't open enough (they should've stopped earlier). He remembers kissing and tight grips, a hand over his hips and love promises. A beautiful russian boy whispering "Ty krasivyy, zvyozdochka," between his legs and his need to make his cunt swollen. Remembers finding comfort in his eyes and hands once. Nikolai whimpers and arches when Mikhail hits his prostate and as much as the other boy reads it as a good thing, he slows down a little. He bends over, brushing his lips over Nikolai's, never breaking their unspoken conversation. His pace is careful but still stings. And then Mikhail is desperate again and bites his boy's neck to mark him and Nikolai's prick is too hard and hot to deny Mikhail's ownership over him. "Ya tebya obozhayu, Nikolai," he smiles.

What happened after was both boys fault. Or Nikolai thought so (he could've stopped him earlier). Mikhail couldn't stop touching him and bruising him all over. He didn't mind it, as long as Mikhail knew how to stop. And then his father noticed their relationship, but never said a word. In fact, he smiled at Mikhail many times and time again over dinner parties and other festivities their family held. It was the _boom!_ Mikhail needed to receive to completely lose his mind. He started hitting Nikolai when he begs _please, no_ , punching and cutting his skin open with a golden switchblade.

He licks the blood and he laughs and he's delighted when Nikolai shouts at him. So he punches him even harder, fuck him even deeper. Soon _zvezda moya_ is a starless sky, a king without a kingdom.

 

He wants to kill him with a M9 stolen from his father cabin. He'll aim for his forehead, so it's quick and Marco won't get too worked up, he hopes at least. The other boy doesn't know his plans, he probably thinks it's another roundabout of theirs, but this time a fetishized target, somebody Nikolai saw in the streets and wants to fuck up. But if something happens, he doesn't want to involve him any further into it. Marco won't fuck things up, he thinks. Nikolai laughs at the thought.

Unfortunately, things doesn't go as planned. He keeps a golden switchblade on his pockets for safety and some afternoon a blonde man stops him. His first reaction is to use his fists and legs, whatever this man wants it isn't good. He's wearing a black long neck under his black coat and his smile reminds him a wolf. Nikolai hated wolves. He tries to scape hears "Hello, _zvyozdochka_."

 

Nikolai's then in the middle of the beach. He holds Mikhail in his arms, the golden switchblade in his pockets. Marco is there somewhere and the room is too small even though they're outside. There's some rocks inside Mikhail's pockets too as some attached to his feet. Nikolai looks down and sees this man melting onto someone he knew before. Blue and wide open eyes, crooked teeth and charming words. He was adorable. To say that love hadn't happen there somewhere, was to lie and lie horribly. Had their love been timocratic, Nikolai wouldn't have to become Madona and Mikhail his personal portrait of Ophelia. He drops the body on the water and watches it drown him.

  
He's the king of his own land.

**Author's Note:**

> *"Ty krasivyy, zvyozdochka". "You're handsome, little star."  
> *Zvyozdochka, zvezda moya. Little star, my star.  
> *"Ya tebya obozhayu, Nikolai". "I adore you, Nikolai."


End file.
